


Tropes and Rare Pairs

by SwampWitch



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Jack is a Little Shit, Just an idea I had to write tiny little fics for some pairings that I like, M/M, Multi, NOT HYDRA, but really only a little, good guy Brock Rumlow, good guy Jack Rollins, just a collection of things really, more to be added - Freeform, using as many tropes as possible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 11:32:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10661706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwampWitch/pseuds/SwampWitch
Summary: some of my paragraphs are eaten when i upload, let me know if i missed an edit somewhere





	1. Table of Contents

**Author's Note:**

> some of my paragraphs are eaten when i upload, let me know if i missed an edit somewhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> any explicit marked with *

  1.  Contents
  2.  Darcy Lewis/ Jack Rollins
  3.  Darcy Lewis/ Jack Rollins
  4.  Darcy Lewis/ Brock Rumlow
  5.  Darcy Lewis/ Jack Rollins
  6.  Darcy Lewis/ Jack Rollins/ Brock Rumlow; Jack Rollins/ Brock Rumlow
  7.  Jack Rollins/ Brock Rumlow
  8.  Jack Rollins/ Brock Rumlow 




	2. Darcy Lewis/ Jack Rollins

     Darcy Lewis knew two things: 1- if this was how she was going to die, she really hoped her friends came up with a better story to tell about the circumstances of her death; and 2- the ass she was currently looking at was fantastic.

     It had been exactly one week ago when a lackey had appeared at her office door to summon her to Coulson’s office. Waving away the new kid, Darcy went back to her work. Less than five minute later her phone started to ring incessantly. Huffing angrily, she picked it up.

     “Lewis.” She barked.

     “I requested you in my office.” Coulson’s monotone wavered slightly, meaning he had something to tell Darcy that she absolutely did not want to hear.

     “Yeah, sorry Son of Coul, I’m super busy. All this paperwork the STRIKE guys rack up is tedious stuff.”

     “Ms. Lewis, you are a paralegal, why do you even have the STRIKE team paperwork on your desk?”

     “Well, I delegated all of my non- critical tasks, finished what you needed me to do personally, and then I got bored, and then it was Tuesday. So, when I popped down to the coffee cart, I looked for work to do. One of the guys from logistics mentioned that they can never get STRIKE reports in on time.  I just went down to the training gym and shouted until I had an armful of STRIKE reports. I’m editing them all now. By the way, I’m really glad for what these guys do, but is there a basic G.E.D. requirement? Because some of those guys can’t write a cohesive report to save their asses.”

     “Lewis?”

     “Yeah, boss?”

     “I’m sorry that I asked. Delegate the STRIKE reports to someone else with the appropriate clearance. Be in my office in ten minutes.”

     “C’mon, Phil, I-“

     There was only a click and dial tone on the other end of the line.

     Handing out the unfinished reports to her assistant, Darcy briefly contemplated just going home for the day, but thought better of it. It’s not like she would make it out of the building anyway.

     Grabbing her coffee mug, she turned to see STRIKE Commander Brock Rumlow leaning in her doorway, arms crossed and looking amused.

     “Can I help you with something, Commander Rumlow?” Darcy knew the older man was all trouble, but she couldn’t help but look. He was a man that made trouble look worth it.

     “Oh no, Ms. Lewis. Coulson asked me to make sure you made it to his office in a timely fashion. He seems to think you would keep finding little things to do until it was time to punch the clock for the day.”

     Darcy was unsurprised that Coulson was so astute, but still a little peeved that she had been figured out so easily.

     “Fine. But don’t stare at my ass on the way up the stairs.”

     He held his hands up in mock surrender, still with his trademark shit- eating grin.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

     As Darcy walked into Coulson’s office, she noticed that he wasn’t alone, and that Rumlow not only followed her into the office, but also closed and locked it behind him. The bastard had definitely been checking out her ass, too.

     “Sir?”

     “Ms. Lewis, perhaps you should sit down.”

     “Phil, whatever it is just tell me.” Both Rumlow and the mystery man near the corner of Coulson’s desk raised a brow at her informality. Darcy forgot that most people were still a little afraid of Phil, and only a handful of people could get away with calling him anything other than Agent Coulson.

      “There is an upcoming STRIKE mission, Ms. Lewis.” Phil finally said, sitting down heavily. “Commander Rumlow believes that you would be an excellent candidate for this mission.”

      “Um, boss? I’m not a field agent. I did my required ten hours of field certification for the year, _and_ I re-upped my handgun qualification. I think I’ll pass on this.”

      “This is non- optional, Ms. Lewis. You’re going. Are you going to read the mission file?”

      Darcy noticed for the first time that Coulson was holding out a file folder to her. She took it and flipped it open, trying not to look too hard at the ruggedly handsome man who had yet to say a word.

      Paging through, certain things stuck out to Darcy. Political assassination, dirty work for sure, but that’s why they needed the STRIKE team. “I don’t see why you need me. This is not something I could ever be good for.”

      “Keep reading, Darcy.”

      A little unsettled by the use of her first name, Darcy read onward, until he reached the point where there was a party mentioned. A party where a single operative would stand out. A plus one was required.

      “No.”

      “No? I did mention this was non-optional.”

      “Phil, I’m not doing this. There are other people who can play snuggle buddy with Commander asshole over there,” she thumbed vaguely at Brock who still looked amused. “and I know there aren’t many, but there are female STRIKE members. Pick one of them.”

      As Darcy turned to leave, Rumlow stood up, blocking her path.

      “Really? You can take me in a fair fight, but I will taze you so fast-“

      “It’s not me.” Brock’s smirk had blossomed into an outright smile. It looked out of place on him. “Coulson here decided that I’m not the best specialist for this mission. We need an operative that's quiet, unnoticed. We need a plus one that can be boisterous, and captivating. So really, I’m just too charming as the operative. And while I'm sure Jackie over there and I could play a convincing couple, that would draw too much of the wrong attention. We need you, _solare.”_

     “What?” Confusion bloomed behind her eyes. “Then who am I-“

     “Me.” The big man by the desk rumbled in her direction.

     Darcy turned to fully appreciate him. He was a gorgeous man. Tall and broad, with amazing light green eyes. The scar down his jaw made him seem all the more dangerous, which appealed to Darcy immensely.

     “Darcy, this is STRIKE second in command Jack Rollins. He will be the operative for this mission, and you will be accompanying him to Minsk.”

     “Minsk? Are you kidding me? I haven’t practiced my Russian in _years._ ”

     “Well, fortunately for you, Lieutenant Commander Rollins is perfectly fluent in both Russian and Belarusian.” Turning his attention to Rumlow, “Commander, if you could give us a few minutes, I will go over the mission details with you shortly.”

     Brock stepped outside, leaving Darcy with Rollins and Phil.

     “Now, Darcy-“

     “Don’t ‘now Darcy’ me, Phil. This is going to be dangerous. I specifically took an office job for you after New Mexico because you promised you could keep me safe. Now you’re telling me that you’re sending me across the fucking world, with an agent I’ve never met, and I have no _say_?”

     Darcy stormed out and headed back for her office to delay getting ready for as long as possible.

\-------------------------------

     Rumlow reentered the office.

     “Rumlow, see to it that Ms. Lewis is aware that her safety is paramount, and that Agent Rollins is more than capable of ensuring her wellbeing.”

     “Yes sir.” After Rumlow had left the office, Jack Rollins turned to Coulson.

     “I’m pretty sure she already hates me, sir.”

     “Darcy is just nervous. She nearly died in New Mexico, and again in New York. I promised that I would keep her safe. I’m entrusting her to you, Rollins. Do not make me break that promise. If you have to choose between keeping Darcy Lewis safe, and completing the mission, keep her safe.”

     “Understood.” As Jack turned to leave the office, Phil cleared his throat. “Sir?”

     “One more thing, Jack. I’m well aware of your personal interest in Darcy Lewis. I’m sure that you’re aware it was a factor in Rumlow’s choice of mission partner. You and I are both aware that he signed himself up with her to get a rise out of you. Do yourself a favor, get to know her. I think you two would be good for each other. She likes Italian.”

     Jack frowned in confusion. He was too old for his boss and friends to play matchmaker for him. It was no one’s business that whenever someone got too close to Darcy Lewis he was there to make sure they backed way the hell off. It was his private business alone if flowers happened to end up on Darcy’s desk the few times she had been hurt.

     Leaving the office, Jack headed to his quarters to get ready for the mission, trying not to think of Darcy Lewis, and how this could end badly for him.

\-----------------------------------------

     The party was a nightmare. Darcy had never had to be nice to so many fake and snobby people in her life. She had never appreciated the crude humor at the base more than she did now. At least it was honest. This ball for wealthy elites in Minsk was so full of bullshit, everyone may as well have been wearing masks.

     Jack, to his credit, had been smiling, and pleasant, and full of laughter all evening. It was beautiful to see his face light up, but Darcy knew he was hating this. She knew that he wanted to be done and headed home. He had taken Darcy to the dance floor, and she was astounded to know that the man could dance, and very well at that.

     “So, tell me, is ballroom dancing part of STRIKE basic training? Because I would pay real money to see that.”

     Jack chuckled lowly in her ear. “No, princess, but it is expected that all senior STRIKE agents can accommodate any mission assigned to them. I would prefer easy in, easy out, dead of the night ops. But sometimes it has to be like this.”

     As Darcy opened her mouth to reply, another man approached them, Darcy recognized him as the mark. She smiled sweetly, allowing him to cut in. Jack took his silent cue, and walked toward the bar. When he was sure no one was looking, he slipped behind the drapes and climbed to the second-floor railing.

     Watching as the dance ended, and Darcy allowed her dance partner to lead her by the arm toward the bar, Jack noticed his target pass the glasses back and forth a few times. Thinking nothing of it, he waited for Darcy to be clear to take the shot. After a moment, he noticed that Darcy was out of sorts. She seemed to be having trouble keeping it together. Her glass slipped from her hand to the floor, crashing and drawing the attention of those near her.

     Burning anger tightened Jack’s chest as he realized that Darcy’s drink had been drugged. When the target was making petty excuses about how she had had too much wine, and he should see her to her room, Jack saw red. Taking careful aim, he made his shot. Screams immediately erupted around the room. Jack broke down his weapon, hiding bits in various pockets concealed in his suit. As Darcy fell back, Jack was already moving down the stars towards her.

     Making no effort to conceal himself from arising suspicion, Jack picked up Darcy and threw her bodily over his shoulder. Moving quickly toward the entrance, Jack saw armed guards taking aim. He ducked behind a sculpture in the foyer, and kicked out a window. Running as fast as he could across the lawn, Jack headed for the bag he had stowed earlier on. The hotel wouldn’t work, he was exposed now. Grabbing the phone inside, Jack carried Darcy to the first taxi he saw. Now he needed to get ahold of Control.

      _[safehouse?]_

_[dammit rollins]_

_[sooner would be better than later]_

Once he had an address, Jack directed the cabbie to a place not quite caddy corner to the safehouse. Handing him a large bill and telling the driver to keep the change and forget his face, Jack carefully picked up Darcy. Once the taxi was gone. Jack made his way around the back of the building, where no one could see him enter. As he climbed the stairs, he tried to keep himself together. Lewis wasn’t helping by grabbing his ass and telling him how ‘squooshy’ it was.

     Jack laid her on the bed, and messaged Coulson to get their extraction ready.

\----------------------------

     When Jack had showered, and redressed in more comfortable clothing, he headed for the safehouse kitchen. He decided that it would be better to make something now than to have to head back to base on an empty stomach.

     After packing up enough food from the meager safehouse supplies, Jack started to clean up. He had nearly finished when he heard Darcy stirring. Surprised that she could even move yet, Jack went to investigate.

     “Jack?” Darcy was all unfocused and slurring.

     “Yes, Ms. Lewis?”

     “What happened?” She could barely keep her eyes open.

     “You were drugged, Ms. Lewis. You’re going to feel a little confused, and a little sick.” As an afterthought he added, “And probably like your body is made of lead.”

     “I need to change, I can’t sleep like this.” She barely intelligible with her slurring, and she was struggling to motion toward the silvery ball gown she still had on. “Help?”

     She looked so helpless that Jack was by her side before he realized he had moved. Knowing that she wouldn’t remember any of this come morning, he helped slide the dress down her curvaceous body, trying not to stare at her. Leaving her lingerie on, Jack pulled one of his long tee shirts over her. On her it was nearly down to her knees. Thinking briefly about how adorable it was, Jack tugged the blankets over her, and left her to sleep it off.

\----------------------------------------------

     When the morning light peeked into the windows, Darcy Lewis woke up with an overwhelming urge to pee. Once in the bathroom, Darcy noticed she was wearing Jack’s clothes, and could not remember the night before. Swallowing down a bit of panic, Darcy walked back to the bedroom. Jack was still asleep on the bed. Darcy sat on the edge of the bed, ready to cry. Her body was sore, like she had had sex, but she couldn’t remember anything.

_Did I really have that much to drink? Would Jack really take advantage like that?_

     Not realizing that she was hyperventilating until she felt Jack’s arms slide around her waist, Darcy leaned into Jack’s chest and sobbed. She didn’t care how weak it made her look.

     “What happened? I don’t remember anything, Jack. Did- did we--?” Darcy paused, and when it dawned on Jack that Darcy thought that Jack must have taken advantage of her, he felt like he had been punched in the gut.

     “God, no Darcy. I promise you, nothing like that happened.” Lifting her chin to meet her eyes, he continued, “You were drugged at the party, but I got you out. You’re safe, I promise. Even from me.”

     Darcy saw only sincerity in his eyes, but she couldn’t stop crying. Jack held her for several long minutes until the burner phone buzzed, signaling their extraction information. Picking it up, Jack relayed to Darcy, “Wheels up in an hour. Why don’t you grab a shower, and I’ll pack this stuff up.”

     After Darcy had climbed into the shower, Jack felt like kicking himself. He had spent no time whatsoever trying to get to know Darcy. Instead he had had to reassure her that he hadn’t raped her while she was drugged up.

     Staring out at the clouds, Jack didn’t notice Darcy slip up behind him. Turning he saw that while she had put on her own jeans and shoes, she had pulled another of his tee shirts from his bag. He smiled.

     Cocking her head, Darcy said, “Those looked like some deep thoughts.”

     “I was worried that I couldn’t keep you safe last night. Then I was worried about what you must have thought about me as a man when you woke up this morning.”

     A flash of guilt went across Darcy’s face, and she reached in to touch Jack’s face. When he met her eyes again, she leaned in, pressing her soft lips to his chapped ones.

     “I was terrified, Jack. But you protected me.” She smiled and pulled herself into his arms. “Thank you.”

     “Darcy?”

     She looked up at him, still obviously exhausted, but clear headed. “Yes?”

     “Do know that Italian place back in DC? The one by the place with the bad coffee?”

     “Yeah, _Fiola Mare_?”

     “Yeah, we should go there when we get back.”

     Darcy watched Jack’s eyes carefully. She knew that when a mission was over it was common for everyone involved to go for drinks, but Darcy was fairly certain that this was different.

     “Jack Rollins, are you asking me on a date?” Darcy’s voice was all smiles, and Jack chuckled a bit.

     “I think I am.”

     “I think that sounds like a plan. But no drinks.” Darcy loved her wine, but she felt the need to steer away for a while.

     Jack smiled, and leaned down to capture Darcy’s lips again. As he deepened the kiss, the Darcy moaned softly. When they broke apart, Jack had a smile on his face that made him seem so different from the man she had met in Coulson’s office.

     Thinking that this could be a good thing, Darcy relaxed against Jack’s chest, and waited for their ride, thinking about how much she was looking forward to their date.


	3. Darcy Lewis/ Jack Rollins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> U kno wot m8? Another jack and Darcy bk I kind of love them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got away from me. I finished this in my criminology class, so it may need edits.  
> **Wow. Just edited out over 100 grammatical errors. No plot changes.**  
> **yikes, edited again to fix what was eaten during upload**

            It all started with the cup of coffee on Jack’s desk. Now, in his line of work, an entirely anonymous gift was to be treated with suspicion. They were, at best, a prank from another agent, or, at worst, potentially poisonous. Jack had ended all attempts at pranks targeted himself years ago. Only the occasional bullshit from Rumlow came through once in a while.

            So, it stood to reason, that when one of the kitchen staff was pushing the cart around on his floor, and the girl knocked on his office door, he was confused.

            The coffee was still steaming as he stared at it. No one interfered with the coffee cart. No one. Not since the great Phil Coulson coffee fiasco. He stared at it some more. Once the kitchen staffer had closed the door behind herself, he allowed himself to pick up the mug and inhale the aroma of the drink.

            It smelled rich, and dark. Not flavored, but almost spicy. Taking a sip, he noticed that it was unsweetened, very strong, and delicious. Seeing the very fine silt at the edges of the cup, Jack realized that the coffee had been made in a French press, which was exactly how he liked his coffee made, no matter how much shit Rumlow gave him for it.

            Setting aside his report, Jack sat back to think while he enjoyed his coffee. It had been a very long time since he had actually let himself do nothing more than sit and enjoy a cup of coffee. The coffee on base was like tar that someone had scraped from the floors of the motor pool. Jack didn’t know how Coulson and the others could stomach it. His eyebrows furrowed together while he thought about who would have gone out of their way to make Jack this perfect cup of coffee. Who would want to? Who would even pay close enough attention that he, a highly-trained STRIKE operative, had not yet noticed? Pushing the thoughts from his mind, Jack picked the report back up and worked on completing it.

\---------------------------------------

            Darcy had heard the steps before she saw the man making them. Jack Rollins made no attempts at stealth here. It had taken exactly one time of being acquainted with Darcy’s Taser and he had never sneaked up on her again. Sometimes he went out of his way to make noise on the way past her desk.

            As he turned the corner that Darcy’s desk was behind, he held out his sealed report folder. Taking it and sliding it into Phil’s already over- full “in- tray,” Darcy looked up at the handsome agent. He always managed to make her breath catch in her throat. That he seemed so unaware of the effect he had on her made him that much more intoxicating to her.

            “Did you need to speak with him? He’s on the phone, but I can buzz you in- he makes all you STRIKE boys a priority.”

            Jack didn’t answer her immediately. He was looking attentively at her soft expression and red, red lips when his eyes were drawn to the cabinet fixture behind Darcy. On it was laid out an assortment of coffee- making apparatus, several open bags of beans, a grinder, and three mugs, each identical to the one he had on his desk at that very moment.

            “Agent Rollins?” Darcy was giving him an odd look.

            “Um, sorry, no. I just needed to hand over the report.” Turning back, he heard Darcy clear her throat.

            “Agent Rollins?”

            “Yes, Ms. Lewis?” She was standing up now. Walking toward him, he noticed that she wasn’t looking at his face, but at his chest. Of course, at his height, most people did.

            "You have something-" She pulled something from between the layers of his uniform, near the collar. He felt something brush past him, and he instinctively shot a hand up. As he held Darcy's wrist, he looked down. 

            "Looks like a dryer sheet. Hey, at least you do your own laundry. Most of the field guys here leave it in damp, smelly piles by the base laundromat.”

            Her cute smile was waning, and Jack realized he still had a crushing grip on her wrist- her fingertips were turning white. Noticing the pinched look on her face, he released her immediately.

            “Sorry about that, Ms. Lewis. Habit.”

            “It’s okay. Really- I've had worse, and that _is_ kinda what they pay you for.”

            After looking at each other for a few long moments, Jack's expression softened. Tilting his head, he was overwhelmed with the desire to kiss Darcy. Opening his mouth to say something, _anything_ , the office door behind them opened.

            “Agent Lewis I need those reports now please if they are all here, and more of that coffee if we still have it.” He had slid back into the office before Darcy could respond.

            The moment lost, Jack stepped back, watching as Darcy picked up a dark bag of beans labeled _Sumatra_ and dropped some into the grinder. She looked around behind her to see if Jack was still there, not seeing him beside the crates stacked in the hallway. Starting up an electric kettle, and reaching behind the cabinet, she revealed a French press. She opened the grinder to fill the press, and Jack caught the spicy scent of dark coffee.

            _Bingo._

\----------------------------------

           In his office, Jack Rollins could not think. He had picked up every scrap of paper in his office at least twice and still couldn't make heads or tails of any of it. He was entirely mesmerized by a pair of bright blue eyes and pouty, full lips. He hadn’t been able to think of anyone or anything but Coulson’s pretty assistant.  Thinking of her curves, and how she looked like she had been poured into the tight pencil skirt that she had been wearing. 

           He had been quietly inquiring, hoping to find out if she was seeing anyone, what she was like, anything about her as a person. In four days, he had learned that she was mouthy, rude, she loved her coffee, and absolutely no one on the office floor dared to cross her. And yet, _and yet-_ everyone loved her. Not a single person failed to mention how they could not possibly function without her presence. She got on well with everyone, even Coulson on a bad day. Jack was starting to become obsessed. It hadn’t helped that every single day since then, something had made it to his desk. Sometimes a cup of the same amazing coffee, sometimes a sandwich from the very first batch made in the day. But today, _today_ , was something altogether different. Today was a photograph. A new photograph, printed on the terrible quality paper from the copy room, of him. Asleep at his desk, his hair plastered to the side of his face, paperwork absolutely everywhere. It was the night he had stayed late trying to complete a mission projection for the following month, but he had been so drained and had such a terrible migraine, that he had simply laid his head down and slept there at his desk overnight.

            Someone, and he could guess who, had taken this photograph, _without waking him up_ , and had written on it in very rounded script ‘you’re cute like this, but you really should get more rest.’

            Sitting down from pacing and sighing heavily, Jack dropped his face into his hand. He didn’t even know anything about her and already he couldn’t stop thinking of her. He couldn’t grasp why anyone would do something as simple as gift someone a cup of coffee, without intruding enough to reveal themselves. Why was it that she had checked to see if she was alone before pulling out the press? Why was she doing these things for him? Jack was well aware of how he was viewed within SHEILD. He was big and brutish. The hired muscle behind Rumlow's brains. The attack dog of STRIKE. He was none of those things, but he liked to encourage the rumors. He didn't need the entirety of the agency knowing that he was usually the one to plan the missions because Rumlow had enough on his too- full plate, or that it was Rollins who generally delegated out tasks within missions, and oversaw the training needs of the newer STRIKE agents. No one needed to know that he had a soft spot for baby animals and that he had cried at the end of _Marley and Me._ He was content to be viewed with disdain, but he was finding that he didn’t want Darcy Lewis to see him that way. For the first time in his extensive career, Jack thought that he could ruin the reputation of a woman he wanted to know just by being his usual self. The thought depressed him.

            Too many questions and no way to answer them, Jack pulled on his coat to go home for the day. Pulling his office door behind him, he trudged down the long hall to the stairwell, entirely absorbed in his thoughts.

            A muffled voice caught his attention halfway down, and he paused. Recognizing the voice as Darcy, he crept further toward the supply room the voice was coming from

            Singing. She was singing, and not some jaunty pop song like she normally did while she worked. This was real music, albeit sung very badly. Recognizing a rock song from his own youth, Jack chimed in as he rounded the corner, catching her entirely off guard.

           With a small shriek, Darcy wobbled and started to fall off the stepladder she was perched on. Jack leaped forward, trying to catch her, and she crashed into his chest. With a heavy thud, they both landed on the floor, knocking the ladder down with them with a loud, echoing crash. 

           For a moment neither said a word. Jack was transfixed at having a very large pair of breasts pushed against him. He was in the perfect position to look directly down Darcy's blouse. He tried desperately not to and swallowed thickly. Jack cleared his throat and tried to move Darcy so that she wouldn't notice the erection Jack was sporting from having a beautiful woman laying on top of him. As he shifted, she did too, placing a knee on the floor directly between Jack’s thighs. Directly against said erection. Jack flushed a deep, dark crimson, all the way to the tips of his ears.

            Anxiety overcame Jack, and he flipped them over so fast Darcy’s head spun. Dumping her gracelessly on the floor, Jack bolted up, and out of the room. He moved fast for the stairs so that he wouldn’t have to look at the woman he had just made an ass of himself in front of.

            Watching him leave, Darcy was aghast. Then she was angry at having been so unceremoniously dropped onto the floor. She was sure that she was going to have a bruise by the morning. Internally seething, Darcy stalked back to her desk to gather her things for the day, hobbling more than a little bit.

\----------------------------------

           Darcy's estimation of her bruising did not do it justice. Her ass had a bruise on one entire side, her shin had needed a few stitched from the step ladder, and her wrist was not only a very dark and ugly purplish color but also swollen up. On her lip was a very slight split where she had slipped trying to get into her apartment after leaving medical and going home for the day. The overall effect gave her the appearance of having been attacked.

            She was exhausted, and angry, and absolutely frustrated. Having woken up late, she rushed into work without her coffee, and she felt worse than she had in a long time.

            "That will be all, Commander Rumlow." Coulson heard the door click open to his office and both he and the STRIKE commander turned around. Seeing who it was, Rumlow looked amused. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he smirked. Phil; however, looked less amused.

            “Darcy, we are in the middle of a confidential—what the hell happened to you???”

            At this outburst, Rumlow turned back to face her, and they both approached. Rumlow was at her side in two large steps, with Phil right behind.  

            “Ms. Lewis, who did this to you?” Brock Rumlow’s voice was cast low and deadly. Darcy could understand now why it was said that as long as Rumlow was talking, you were okay. He certainly sounded dangerous now. Phil tenderly lifted her wrist, and she whimpered involuntarily.

            “Darcy, I think this wrist broken. These bruises are a few days old, how long has this been like this? I’m taking you to medical.” Phil looked deadly calm as well. Darcy felt like she couldn’t breathe. She felt her face heat up, and tears welled up in her eyes.

            "No, please, I went yesterday, I don't want to go back." Darcy took a deep, shuddery breath, and then another. After another, she started to sob uncontrollably. Brock wrapped strong arms around her, and let her cry. Sharing a look with Coulson, he gently led her to the couch in the office and sat her down. Letting her put her feet up and lay against him, Brock watched Phil duck out of the office. After a few minutes, when Darcy had calmed down some, Phil returned with a doctor in tow, who took one look at Darcy and turned to Phil.

            “Agent Coulson, she needs to be in medical. That needs x-rayed, and those stitches have pulled.”

            For the first time, both Rumlow and Coulson noticed the gash in Darcy’s leg. Her skirt had pulled up nearly to her waist, giving Phil and the doctor a very clear view of the large bruise that extended down to the top of Darcy’s thigh.

            Brock Rumlow had started to shake. This girl, this small piece of bright light in a building full of severity, had been dulled. Someone had hurt this spitfire of a woman that his best friend was so taken with. “Ms. Lewis, _please tell me who did this to you.”_

            Looking up to meet his eyes, she whispered, “Please don’t blame him. It’s not what you think.”

            “ _Who?”_

            “Agent Rollins.”

            The room grew so quiet that it seemed like the world had simply stopped spinning.

\---------------------------

            Rumlow led Darcy down to medical, while the doctor and Coulson spoke in hushed voices. As she sat back on a gurney, he started to step away, when Darcy touched his hand.

            “Agent Rumlow?”

            “Yes, Ms. Lewis?”

            “It’s really not his fault.”

            “Jack is my best agent in STRIKE. He knows how to restrain himself. He knows how to inflict pain, and he knows how to _not leave marks_. He’d be a shitty STRIKE agent otherwise. Maybe he didn’t mean that, as you say. But he has some things to answer for.” Rumlow stomped out of the medical bay.

            Brock could only think about the sweet girl in the medical bay who made everything easier for everyone. She took too much work on herself, too. She was so much like Coulson. She wanted so much to help others around her that she didn’t think of her own well- being. More than once, Brock had found coffee, or food, or a change of clothes, or _something_ he had needed when he was too deadass tired to be bothered getting them for himself. All these were courtesy of Darcy Lewis. She had made homemade soup for him from her grandmother's recipe when he had the flu. She fixed and filed reports for younger agents so they could avoid the wrath of Coulson. She noticed when someone needed a shoulder to cry on, or when someone needed to be, very quietly, visited by someone from psych. She took care of people. She was too young, too pure, for Brock. He wouldn’t sully her with his own darkness, his own issues. But by god, no one was going to harm Darcy Lewis if he had a say. Not even his best friend.

            Jack Rollins was running drills for the STRIKE detail that was up for the next mission. As the heavy door slammed behind Brock, Jack looked up. He had a far- away look on his face. He didn’t seem to notice that Brock's expression was murderous. The other STRIKE agents had certainly picked up on it and were backing away. Before Jack could register what was happening, he was laying on the floor. Pain radiated from everywhere. He was vaguely aware of the gym emptying. He could tell that Brock was shouting, but his ears were ringing.

            “ANSWER ME!!”

            “What?” Trying to find Brock’s face through his swimming vision, Jack looked up from the floor.

            Brock grabbed Jack by the front of his shirt and yanked him up. "What. Did. You. Do. To. Darcy Lewis.”

            “Darcy? What are you talking about? I saw her yesterday, but nothing happened. I think I startled her is all.”

            “Oh, that’s all?” Brock snarled and surprised Jack with another hook to the side of the face. Nearly dragging Jack, he headed for the medical bay.

\---------------------------------------

            Having relayed the story to Phil, as well as her personal feelings about Jack Rollins, he felt a migraine coming on. Feeling eyes behind him, he noticed Brock literally dragging Jack into the medical bay, and he was bleeding. Knowing that Darcy could neither see nor hear them, Phil allowed Darcy to continue. 

            “I mean it boss, it just looks bad. I think that I just surprised him. I’m honestly just having a super shitty day. Agent Rollins is a good man, no matter what he wants everyone to think of him. I just wanted to do something nice for him. No one else ever does. He works so hard, and he does so much, and all anyone ever does is talk shit about him." She said it so earnestly that Phil felt his heart pull.

            “Darcy-” He started, with a sideways glance to Jack.

            “No, Phil. I’m serious. I think I spooked him, and he dumped me on the floor. He _did_ catch me and keep me from breaking my neck in the supply room. I landed right on him. I got to look at his beautiful face all up close."

            Jack made a choking noise while Brock busted out laughing. Holding his stomach and leaning against the wall, he fought to keep upright. Jack stepped in, and looked back at Brock, and then at Coulson. Each one taking their cue, they backed out.

            Before leaving, Phil fixed a look on Jack. “In your own time, Agent Rollins, there will be things that need to be discussed.” Understanding that both Coulson and Rumlow were well and truly angry, he nodded slowly.

            Darcy silently looked up at Jack. He sat heavily by her side, looking troubled. Darcy lifted her good hand up to gently touch Jack’s face. “What happened to that beautiful face?”

            Covering her delicate hand with his larger one, he whispered, "It's not a beautiful face. It's haggard and scarred, and ” Jack was cut off by Darcy’s soft lips pressed against his. She felt his tiny gasp and deepened the kiss. Jack felt Darcy's tongue slip along his, and he let himself fall into the moment, and he ran his hands down her arms, and to her waist. As his grip tightened, she winced. Jack backed off immediately and looked at her questioningly.

            “Darcy?”

            “I’m sorry, Agent Rollins, I may or may not have a bruise, from landing on the floor…” She looked away, feeling a little embarrassed.

            “Darcy, please believe me when I tell you that I never meant to hurt you. I just-” he paused, searching for his words. “I’m not used to being _gentle_. It’s been, well longer than I’d care to admit that I’ve been, uh, _gentle_ with anybody. I am so sorry that I ended up hurting you, I, I-”

            Darcy couldn’t believe the flush on his face. “It’s okay. I was mad. I’m still a little mad. But I’m mostly just worried about you. Nobody takes care of you, and _you_ sure as hell don’t take care of yourself.”

            He looked up at her beautiful blue eyes. “And you’re saying that you want to _take care of_ me?” The innuendo in his voice made her smile.

            “I’m saying that I want to know who you are, Agent Rollins. I want to know the man underneath the hardass. I want to know if you’re someone that I _can_ take care of.”

  "Jack."

            “What?”

            “My name, my first name. It’s Jack.”

            “Hmmmm. Well, _Jack._ I think that we have some things to clear up before there can be any _taking care of_ , don’t you think.” She smiled sultrily at him, and he felt as though someone had reached into his chest touched his heart.

            “We can absolutely do that. Maybe over dinner?” He added hopefully.

            “Dinner sounds amazing. And then maybe we can go back to my place? I have it on good authority that I make a mean cup of coffee.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next one Brock/Jack, or Darcy/ Brock?


	4. Darcy Lewis/ Brock Rumlow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy/Brock as promised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like it? I'm not sure about how well I characterized Rumlow

 

           Noise. Endless noise. Everything in the shitty little dive bar was smoke, and haze, and noise- Darcy had had enough. She had drunk enough that she didn’t feel as empty, or as broken. She was still angry though. Ian, of course, had called almost incessantly over the last few days-  he felt guilty, and wanted to talk about things, and wanted to meet somewhere. It was something else every time.

            Darcy had made enough mistakes in her love life that she knew people didn’t change. People don’t cheat unless they want to, and if they want to, then you’ve already lost them. It’s not as though he had been particularly good in bed, he was terrible, in fact. But he seemed like he was normal enough to balance out Darcy’s brand of crazy. He was down to earth, and Darcy needed that.  Darcy could have handled it if Ian had just had balls enough to say he wanted to end things. It was one thing to break off a relationship, but it was another thing to fuck somebody else in the same bed.

            She had been blonde, too. Blonde, and leggy, and had a cute little laugh, and a cute little butt. The insecure part of Darcy shuddered involuntarily at her own chestnut brown hair, curvy hips and thighs, and her bawdy laughter. While she seethed internally while she stood drinking a brand of vodka that she couldn’t pronounce, she noticed Ian and his cute new girlfriend walk into the bar. Darcy was partially angry that they would dare to intrude on her here, and another part of her knew that this was the only bar that an intern could actually afford.

            She had also noticed the way a man in the corner of the bar was watching her. He was gorgeous, too, but Darcy wasn’t ready to process that yet. He was stocky, and had tawny olive skin, and perfect hair. His eyes were the same color as the dark bourbon he was throwing back. She knew she had seen him somewhere before, but she couldn’t place him. She pushed thoughts of him out of mind.  

            Her eyes followed Ian and his toy as they wandered up to the bar to order. As he got their drink order out, Ian’s shifty eyes settled on Darcy.

            “Darcy!” Ian was already stalking towards her. “I’ve been trying to catch up with you for days!”

           Not wanting to deal with any of Ian’s bullshit, Darcy was backing away fast until she collided with a chair near the wall.  Feeling cornered, she felt her face grow hot with anger. “Go. The fuck. Away.” She grated out. Darcy wasn’t kind when she was drinking, and even sober, she wasn’t about to make nice with Ian.

           “Please just talk to me Darcy, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about some things for ages!” Ian sounded desperate, looked desperate. It wasn’t a good look on anyone, but on Ian it made him look slightly unhinged.

           Darcy was in no way interested in letting him talk himself into circles and make her into the bad guy. She had made her choice to stick with Jane, finish her internship, and then, maybe, go to work for Agent iPod- Thief from New Mexico. She’d had just enough alcohol to feel brave, and just enough vodka to feel mean.

           “Oh really?” Darcy wasn’t quite yelling, but she knew the entire, seedy little bar could hear her. “I think you’ve got ahold of enough already.” She gestured at the leggy blonde Ian had wandered in with. “Why would I ever want to fucking talk to you again? Because in case you haven’t noticed, we are _done_ here. You had your chance to talk to me before you brought your little tramp to MY APARTMENT and fucked her in MY BED.”

           Someone had turned the TVs down, and all conversation had stopped. The only noises she could hear were the faint scrapes of chairs, and glasses on tables as all the eyes in the bar faced them. Feeling self- conscious, Darcy turned to go.

           “Darcy don’t go, please. We were good together, we can _still be_ good together.” At this, the blonde’s eyebrows rose into her hairline, and she quietly grabbed her coat, and headed for the door.

           “Good together!?!??” Now Darcy was shouting. Throwing her glass at the floor, she grabbed Ian by the shirt and screamed into his face, “You have literally never been good for me! At anything! There was never a night that we had sex that I didn’t have to take care of myself afterwards because you sure as hell didn’t know what to do! There wasn’t a day that I went to work that you didn’t tell me it was wasted on me and that I should just stay home and cook. You expect me to do everything and be everything for you, but all you are for me is a piece of shit.” Some of the men in the bar were openly laughing now.  

           Ian was looking nearly apoplectic, and he drew back an arm to hit Darcy, when someone grabbed his wrist and wrapped a burly arm around his neck. The man from the corner of the bar had apparently known what Ian was going to do, because he had made it across the length of the bar before Ian’s hand had raised.

           In a very low, menacing growl, he spoke into Ian’s ear, “Why don’t you back off the lady, pal. She’s got no use for a pathetic little boy.” It was a deep voice, with a thick Bronx accent that, despite her anger, was already doing things for Darcy.

           Ian’s eyes were wide, and he was frozen stock- still. Darcy spoke up in a very small voice, “Please, just let him go, he’s not even worth the trouble.”

           Eyes the color of dark bourbon peered around behind Ian, and the arm around his neck slowly moved. “You heard the lady. Best be going, boy.”

           It only took Ian a split second to scrabble out the doors of the bar. Now that the show was over, the televisions had been turned back up, and people were getting back to their drinks. Darcy slipped up to the bartender, avoiding her mystery savior’s beautiful eyes, and paid her tab. Only wanting to go home and take a hot bath, she turned. Darcy stopped short when she realized that the gorgeous Italian man was right behind her.

           He smirked down at her, and leaned in to whisper in her ear, “You know, darlin’, if you need a man that won’t leave you hangin’ I promise I can take care of _everything_ you need.”

           His voice was gravelly, and sounded like pure sex. Darcy wanted. Oh, did she want, and oh did she want to _not_ want.

           Clearing her throat, Darcy eked out, “That is an _extraordinarily_ tempting offer, but I don’t know you buddy, and you look like trouble.”

           “Hey, you gotta be smart, I get it. Why don’t I pick you up from the lab tomorrow? We can go somewhere and grab a drink. Somewhere- not this.” He gestured at the bar around them, and Darcy realized where she knew him from.

           “Oh, my god, you’re a STRIKE agent. You’ve been following me?” Darcy was suddenly incensed at the thought that someone had been following her, and especially that one of Agent iPod- Thief’s jack- booted thugs was doing the following.

           “That I am, Ms. Lewis.”

           “Why?”

           “Well, I mean, there really aren’t a lot of career prospects for guys that have my specific skill set, and I spent a year on wall street, but I hated it, so-” He looked amused.

           “No, you ass, why are you following me?”

           “I can’t tell you that right now, but please trust me when I say that you will be glad that I am.”

           “How long have you been following me?” Darcy didn’t generally care about privacy, she didn’t have any real shame, but the thought of where this man had followed her was getting under her skin.

           “Also not something I can tell you right now, Ms. Lewis,” he leaned back into her space to whisper once more into her ear, “But I promise I won’t put it in my report that you went to a sex shop, and I _certainly_ won’t put into that report what it was you bought. I’ll just let you know, between the two of us, that I am much more capable of pleasing you than the little toy you bought.” He was so self- assured that Darcy wanted to slap him. She was mortified, and stepped aside to flee the bar.

           Once outside in the fresh air, she had taken a few deep breaths when she felt hands on her shoulders. Startled, she turned. She looked directly into the agent’s eyes. “Look guy,”

           He cut her off, “Brock.”

           “What?” Darcy was confused.

           “Brock. Rumlow- that’s my name.”

           “Look, _Brock_ , I need space. It’s been a really bad week for me. Thank you, for helping me with Ian, but I just want to be alone.”

           “Ms. Lewis- _Darcy_ , I know that you want your space, but it’s my job right now to keep you safe. I’m not just STRIKE, Darcy. I’m the STRIKE team Commander. I’m here to protect you, and it will be easier to do that if you let me come with you. I promise you, I will leave you alone, but I need to keep you safe.” He seemed desperate, pleading.

           “You’re totally sleeping on the couch. And don’t bitch about the mess in my apartment.”

           Brock smiled down at her. “Of course, Ms. Lewis. But if we’re going to your apartment instead of mine, we need to make a stop.”

           “A stop for what?”

           “I need to grab some stuff. While I’m sure that whatever cute little lacy panties you happen to have would look fantastic on my ass, I think I’d be more comfortable in my own clothes.”

           Darcy wanted to laugh, but instead flushed deeply and tried not to lick her lips at that mental image. The thought of Brock’s ass in her bright pink panties was making her feel warm all over. She started walking.

           As Brock kept pace, he tilted his head to say, “Of course if that’s something you’re into, we could give that a try.”

           Darcy could hear the smile in his voice. “You know what? Talk to me about it when I’ve had some coffee.”

           While they were silent for the rest of the way to Brock’s apartment, Darcy had the feeling that her evening was far from over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'll do a part 2 of this at some point


	5. Darcy Lewis/ Jack Rollins

                Darcy Lewis did not have a glorious job, but she loved it anyway. She seldom had to mind people the way she looked after Jane, and she got to listen to her music pretty much all the time. She really couldn’t complain. Not to mention that she was generally working with a hot STRIKE agent most of the time.

                It was tedious and sometimes laborious, but Darcy enjoyed her work. For every time that a mission called for an actual safehouse, instead of a cheap motel or even a tent, that safehouse needed to be cleared and stocked. Sometimes it was dangerous. More than once squatters had found them, or they had been turned into drug dens. Sometimes there were some really bad people waiting for the team that cleared the safehouses for use. That’s where Darcy’s handsome STRIKE agent came in.

                While Darcy supervised what foods, medical supplies, basic living and hygiene supplies went into any given safehouse, the weapons and ammo restock had to be supervised by a field agent. Said field agent was also required to walkthrough the safehouse first, checking for any traps, damages, or other dangers before Darcy could start her assessment. Since it was generally considered that Commander Rumlow would be too busy, and one of the lower agents wouldn’t be up to the task, Darcy had been working with Agent Jack Rollins two to three times a week for the better part of a year. The only times she was assigned to someone else was when Jack was required on a bigger STRIKE mission. She hated those. Jack had a tendency to be reckless and come back hurt.

                She didn’t understand how everyone in the agency thought he was such a hardass. Sure, he was stoic and reserved around the base, but in his position, that was to be expected. On base, he smiled less than Agent May, which was impressive, but Darcy’s Jack was all smiles and laughing. He could lay out the filthiest jokes she knew, and manage to not make the silence afterwards awkward. Jack could make Darcy smile on bad days when she just wanted to shout, and when he smiled at her, she felt something in her chest lighten up just a little.

                Darcy had it bad. She knew when she started having feelings that were definitely not of the ‘we’re chill because we work together’ variety. Having gone through an incredibly bad breakup, Darcy had started drinking an awful lot. People had started to notice. Her superiors had started to notice. Jack had noticed it right away. After two weeks of coming in surly and hungover, Jack had pulled Darcy into his office and let her cry all over him about how miserable she felt that nobody wanted her. He held her tightly in his arms, and tucked her under his chin, and told her that any man would be damn lucky to have such an amazing woman to call theirs, and anyone who couldn’t see that should be shot.

                After Darcy slept had off that particular hangover on the couch in Jack’s office, she thought about how good and right she had felt in Jack’s arms. She had woken up alone, Jack was a busy man after all, but he had draped his jacket over her, and turned the lights down so she could rest. He had left her a paper cup of water from the cooler and a bottle of Tylenol. It was then that she knew she was in trouble.

                Now, half a year later, Darcy had an awesome best friend and an awesome job. Now she just needed to get laid. This was proving difficult. The person she wanted to take to bed, oh so very desperately, was absolutely not interested. Darcy had been very forward with Jack the few times she had let herself drink since her breakup. She knew that she had flustered Jack before, so she knew that he was interested in women, but he didn’t seem to be interested in _her_. Flustered or not, he always made sure that she made it back to her room, and always alone. She tried not to let it hurt her pride. And if she tended to wear lower cut tops, and tighter jeans on the days she worked with Jack, well that was her business.

                This particular mission was to an old, but steadfast safehouse in the Colorado Mountains. It was something of a frequent flyer safehouse, so it generally had to be stocked for several consecutive uses, and have several bedrooms. It was not a place that seemed fantastic while she looked at the paperwork, but in person, Darcy thought it was beautiful. It was cold, bitterly cold, with snow falling already. Darcy thought it looked like a wonderland.

                The snowfall made for cold but busy work. Jack had already cleared the safehouse and unloaded most of the heavier supplies. Darcy was stocking the enormous freezer with food when the weather advisory alert came in.

                Ducking his head in the doorway to the kitchen, Jack called out, “So how do you feel about being stuck with me a few more days?”

                “I think it’s a great chance for me to lose a few dozen more hands of cards.” Darcy grinned. No one had beaten Jack at cards in years. Rumlow came close once, but he folded. While Darcy had certainly improved, she was still no match for Jack’s legendary poker face. She was sure that even if he didn’t have his SHIELD salary, he could make a living as a career gambler.

                Smiling, Jack ducked back around the corner. Darcy heard the quinjet powering down, and after a few minutes heard the bolt in the front door slide. Two soft thuds meant Jack had taken off his boots. Darcy liked the rare times she got to spend with Jack like this. It made it seem like she wasn’t trying too hard to hang out with him. By now she knew more about Jack than even Commander Rumlow.

                As Darcy closed the fridge, she turned to fill the first aid kit, only to find it missing from the spot where she had left it. Walking through the living area and toward the bedrooms in search of Jack, who must have moved it, she heard a soft groan.

                “Jack, are you alright?” Peering into the bedroom that Jack seemed to have claimed, she saw the first aid kit, opened, and Jack holding his side. "Jack, what happened?"

               Darcy rushed into the room to check Jack for injuries. He had taken off his winter coat, and all of his field gear. His outer shirt had been cut off, and the tank top he wore underneath was pulled up above his rib-cage. "Darcy, I've got this-”

                “No, you’re _hurt_. God, we haven’t been here an hour, are you okay?”

                “It’s okay, looks worse than it is. Just slipped on some ice, landed on that pile of firewood. Some scrapes are all.”

                “Thank god you had your gear on, that could have really hurt you.” Darcy’s face was scrunched up with concern. She started cleaning Jack’s very minor wounds, which, thankfully, wouldn’t need stitches.

                “You’re really worried about this, aren’t you?” Jack asked softly.

                Not meeting his eyes, Darcy replied, “I’m always worried about you.”

                As Jack tilted his head and opened his mouth to speak, the power shuddered and went out. The cabin was pitched into almost complete darkness. Darcy stood and pushed the blinds aside. 

                “It’s really coming down out there.” Crouching back down to Jack, she made short work of dressing his wound. Jack was still looking at her strangely.

                “I should go check the generator.” He was already standing and reaching for his coat when Darcy stuck a hand out and shoved him onto the bed. The look of total shock on his face was hilarious.

                Smiling, Darcy said, “Relax big guy, I’ll go. You’re hurt, and I know how to check a generator.”

                “That snow is bad, Darce, the wind too.”

                “It’s okay Jack. It’s a short walk.”

\------------------------------------------------------

                Darcy had never believed that famous last words were a thing, but boy did she now. After more than an hour of failing to re-start the generator, she was cold and headed in to find Jack. Not being able to see the ice through the snow, Darcy slipped, rolling down the bank of piled snow. Tumbling for almost twenty feet, she landed on her back and sank into the deep snow. Something solid knocked the wind right out her, and the last thing she remembered before her vision hazed out, was that she hoped Jack would be able to find her.

\--------------------------------------------------

                Warmth surrounded Darcy. Everything was warm and cozy. Her back hurt terribly, but she was warm, and everything smelled like the cedary spice that Darcy recognized as Jack's cologne. Only Jack would even _bring_ cologne along on a mission. As she tried to sit up, she let out a soft moan of discomfort. It was then that she noticed Jack in the room. And then she noticed that Jack was shirtless, and changing his bandage.

                “What happened?”

                "Well," Jack began, giving her the disappointed voice he used when someone had fucked up, "After you decided to check the generator when I told you that I would take care of it, you must have slipped, too. When I finished changing my clothes and washing up, and you still weren’t back, I went to look for you. I found you at the bottom of the hill after more than an hour of looking. You were outside for almost three.”

                “I feel terrible.”

                “I’m sure you do. You aren’t seriously hurt, but I’ll be surprised if you aren’t sick.”

                “Great.” Laying back with a huff, Darcy felt the bed dip. “Jack?”

                “Yes?”

                “Thanks for coming after me.”

                He smiled. “Of course, Darcy. If I left you out there to die, who would I have to play cards with for the next couple days?”

                “Jack?”

                “Yes?” He sounded a little more exasperated this time.

                “Why am I in your bed?”

                Jack flushed a deep scarlet that made Darcy’s heart flutter. Jack wasn't the blushing type; he would usually be silent or say something rude and move on. He turned away from her quickly. “I couldn’t get the generator going either, so it’s going to be a cold few days. We’ll have to double up if we want to stay warm.” He gestured to the firewood he had brought in, and the fire he had started in the wood stove in his room.

                Darcy lay back, tugging on Jack’s arm. As they lay together, he wrapped the blankets around them both. One of his hands came up to her forehead.

                “Already working on a fever.”

                “Yay me.” Darcy sounded dejected, but nuzzled in closely to Jack’s chest, telling herself that the way his heart thumped erratically meant nothing, and let herself go back to sleep.

\---------------------------------------------

                When Darcy awoke, she was cold- more than cold. The fire was still blazing in the wood stove, but the bed beside her was empty. She shivered and tried to call for Jack, but no sound came out. Then the pain registered. It felt like someone had taken a bottle brush to the inside of her throat. Her eyes watered, and her head hurt. Climbing out of bed, and putting on Jack's heavy coat, she headed for the kitchen, where she heard Jack humming to a tune she didn't recognize. 

                Hearing her soft steps, Jack turned. The smile on his face faltered when he saw her face, with tears running down, and red puffy lips.

                "Oh, Darcy." He gently led her to the tiny kitchen table and sat her down. Stepping to the cabin’s living area, he grabbed a thick knit blanket and draped it around the coat she already wore.

                She opened her mouth to speak, but only a whimper came out, and she grabbed her throat. Jack’s look of concerned pity only compounded her misery.

                “I’m going to make you some tea.” Darcy crinkled her nose. She was vehemently not a tea drinker. She felt that tea was for people who couldn’t handle coffee. She gave Jack shit for it all the time, because he usually drank tea if it was available, and coffee only if it was all that was there.

                “I know, I know. But the coffee here is not only instant but _decaf._ " Darcy's despise of decaffeinated coffee was unrivaled within SHIELD. She crinkled her nose again and looked down.

                Jack knelt down on the floor before her and looked into her eyes. "I know you don't like tea, but this is special tea. I'm worried about you okay? Let me take care of you." 

                Darcy nodded, glad for the time that her voice was gone and prevented her from making a comment about all the ways that Jack could _take care_ of her. She snuffled and smelled something delicious. It was then that she realized why Jack had been in the kitchen. He was cooking. Darcy had never known Jack to cook. Any time they had been overnighted for work she had handled the cooking- mostly because she felt that Jack had done enough. She supposed it made sense, though. The man had to feed himself somehow, and as far as Darcy knew, he’d been a single man for most of his adult life.

                The pot on the stove smelled amazing, and Darcy heard her stomach rumble, which made Jack laugh. "Don't worry; it's almost done. It's chicken soup. Do you want rice or pasta in it? We have both.”

                Darcy pointed at the bag of curly egg noodles on the counter.

                "Excellent choice. I don't understand rice in soups anyway."

                Jack continued humming, as Darcy leaned back in her chair. She smelled sharp spices in the air, watched as Jack measured out almost a dozen spices and dropped them into a small pot. When the water boiled, he dropped in nearly half the jar of honey from the shelf. He reached over to add the now cooked pasta to the soup pot and began fishing around the pantry. She heard a soft "Aha!" and Jack pulled out a box of something.

                “It’s powdered, and this is better with fresh, but it'll do." Jack dumped two full cups of what looked like dry milk. He stirred everything together for a few minutes and then added several tea bags to the mix. "It's better with the right tea, too, but we’ll save all that for another time.”

                Jack pulled a large mug down from the high shelf and filled it from the pot of spices he had been mixing. He set it down in front of her and turned to grab a mug for himself. Darcy realized that Jack had made her chai. From absolute scratch, he had made chai. Without knowing that it was the only tea she liked, and that it was what her grandmother had always made her when was sick, Jack had made it for her. She felt her face get hot, and tears filled her eyes. She stood, dropping the blanket, and wrapped her arms around Jack, leaning against his back. He chuckled softly at her. 

                 He turned in her arms and looked down. The concerned look reappeared at her expression, and he wrapped her tightly in a hug that squeezed the breath out of her. "Sit down, Darce. I'll get us some soup." He quickly filled two bowls and dragged his chair around so that he could sit beside Darcy rather than across from her.

                He rested an arm along the back of her chair while he ate, the closeness more than anything helped Darcy to relax. She sipped at her soup while she waited on the chai to cool. When her soup bowl was empty, she picked up the mug of chai. She smelled it- it smelled perfect. Taking a tentative sip, she moaned deeply, and quite embarrassingly. She felt Jack stiffen beside her, and she realized how sexual she must have sounded. Taking advantage of the moment, she leaned her head against Jack’s shoulder.

                “I take it you like the tea?” His voice sounded rougher than usual and a little strained.

                “Yes.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Thank you, Jack. I didn’t even know you could cook.”

                “You are very welcome. But save your voice.” He smiled at her, seeming genuinely pleased at her remark. He gathered the dishes and sat them in the sink. Covering the soup, and the chai, he pushed them to the back of the stove.

                “Why don’t you go lay back down? I’m going to try that generator again. We’re going to want to run water, and without power, the well pump is out."

                Darcy nodded and took her mug back to Jack's bedroom. As an afterthought, she went back to the kitchen and grabbed a large pot. Stopping at the front door to fill it with snow, she carried to the wood stove. Carefully resting it on the top grate, she undressed. Her bag always had a change of clothes and a shower kit for times just like this, and she felt disgusting and sweaty. 

                Standing by the warm fire, Darcy started to wash the sweat from her body with the now warm water in the pot. Once she was completely clean, except for her feet, she carried the rag with her and sat at the edge of the bed. Washing her feet down, she tossed the rag toward the bathroom, where it landed on the tile. Lying back for a moment, she closed her eyes. The room brightened, as the lights came back on. Darcy smiled, glad that Jack had figured out the generator problem.

               Slipping off the bed so she could dress before Jack came back inside, she paused. All of her clothes were either dirty or jeans. She was not about to get in bed with jeans on. Reaching into Jack's bag, she pulled out the shirt closest to the top. It was long sleeved and thermal. It also smelled like Jack. As she pulled it on, it draped down to her mid- thigh. She had only just put underwear on when she heard a startled gasp in the doorway.

                “Darcy, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were changing.” She decided that Jack was adorable when he blushed.

                “I needed to wash.” She motioned to the pot of water.

                Jack stepped into the room, and up to Darcy. He didn’t seem troubled that she had stolen his clothes. He looked conflicted.

                “What’s wrong?”

                “It’s… nothing.” He sat down heavily, not looking at her.

                “Jack?”

                "Let's get some sleep; it's pretty late." He shut the light off, and lay down, not facing her. Darcy slid under the blankets and settled down. Her thoughts were troubled, and she didn't understand why Jack was agitated with her when he had been in such a good mood. She rested her head against his back, and he relaxed into the touch but said nothing.

\----------------------------------------------------

                Sunlight crept through the windows, and Darcy slid out from under the blankets to look outside. It was still snowing, but it was bright out. It would probably be done by the end of the day, which meant another day or two before they could safely take the quinjet back. Turning back to the bed, she noticed that Jack was still asleep. Her throat didn’t hurt nearly as bad, and she smiled.

                Climbing back into bed, she cuddled up to Jack’s chest. He must have turned over in the night. Thinking that if he was already mad at her for something, then it couldn’t hurt to come clean. She loved their missions, their jokes, their friendship. Darcy also knew that all of that could come crashing down if she told Jack how she felt. But she hated keeping it inside, and she could never move on from Jack if she didn’t tell him.

              The thought that Jack might never want to speak to her again, or worse, that he would pity her and asked to be reassigned choked her. She felt the tears down her face as she tried to stop the sobs that shook her. Hoping not to wake Jack, she buried her face in his chest, shaking slightly. 

                It didn’t work. Jack rumbled a little and brought his arms around her.

                “Darcy?” His voice was sleep- rough and questioning.

                Darcy didn’t answer. Only thinking that it felt so _good_ , so _right_ , in his arms, she couldn't hold it back. Jack didn't say a word, just tightened his hold and let her cry.

                After almost ten minutes of Jack soothingly running his hands over her back, she settled down. Jack looked into her eyes, worried. “Darcy, sweetie, what’s wrong?”

                "I-" She still couldn't do it. She backed out of his grip and turned to face the wall away from him. He followed, sitting beside her, and wrapping his arms around her again.

                “Darcy?”

                “Jack what did I do?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

                “What?” Jack looked confused.

                "What did I do? You were acting weird yesterday, and again last night when you brushed me off. Did I do something?"

                “What? No Darcy, that’s just-” He paused, looking for words.

                “Let me guess. It’s _nothing._ ” She got up and reached for her clean set of clothes. She couldn’t talk to him like this. She needed to calm down so he wouldn’t think she was a crazy person for getting so upset over what must look like something petty.

                 She didn't hear him move, but Jack gently took hold of her hand and turned her to face him. 

                “Darcy, I’m not upset with you. I don’t think I’ve ever been upset with you. Will you tell me what’s bothering you?” He was using the same soft voice he had yesterday when she was dressing his wounds.

                Darcy tilted her head and looked up at Jack. She thought about how beautiful his eyes were, how the scruff on his chin was endearing, and how the scar on his face just made him seem more ruggedly handsome to her. She tried to memorize every line of his face, in case she never got to see the look he was giving her now ever again.

                “Jack, I’m in love with you.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------

                All of Jack’s thoughts were screaming in his head. Darcy Lewis loved _him._ Darcy Lewis _loved_ him. She had told him how much she loved him when she was drunk before, and it always hurt him to settle her into her room alone, but she was sober now. She was thinking clearly. _Darcy Lewis_ loved him. He was silent for a moment too long.

                Darcy turned away from him again. “I- I know you don’t feel the same way, and I know this makes things weird, but I couldn’t say nothing. I’ve felt this way for a little while, and it’s torture for me to look at you every day and know that I can’t have you.”

                Jack still couldn’t speak. Internally screaming at himself to do _something_ , to fucking say _anything_ , but he was frozen. He knew that he was ruining his chance with this woman and he _couldn’t speak._

                “Jack you’re giving me base- face. Please say something. If you want me to reassign, I will. I know I’m not really a solid choice of person to have pining after you. I know this- this changes things, God Jack will you please just say something? Tell to me fuck off, anything!” Darcy was crying and yelling, she flailed her arms around and sat on the foot of the bed heavily.

                Jack closed the distance between them and pulled Darcy back to her feet. She looked scared for a moment and wondered if Jack was going to yell at her. He'd never done that, but she had seen him yell at junior agents before and it was terrifying. She looked up.

               "Jack?" Her voice was a small, terrified little squeak. Jack couldn't take it. He leaned down and kissed her. Her soft gasp let him deepen the kiss. Her moans were driving him crazy; he ran his hands down her body to her thighs. He broke the kiss long enough to crouch and pick Darcy up under her thighs and swing her onto the bed. He quickly climbed on top of her.

                He started kissing down her face, and her neck. Taking a moment to sink his teeth over the veins in her throat, he was rewarded with a breathy gasp of his name.

                “Jack- Jack!” Darcy’s voice was deep with arousal, and her soft moans were making him lightheaded with want. Kissing down her throat, down the open neck of his shirt that she wore, he paused under her collarbone, sucking a small love bite there, and smirking at the mark he’d made.

                He looked up and saw that while Darcy had stopped crying, her face was still wet with tears. He pulled himself up and pulled her against his chest. 

                “Darcy, I never thought you would ever want me. I’m not, not _good_ for you. You've seen our reports; you know what we do. How could you want me?" Feeling like he was selfishly taking advantage, he started to withdraw from her. 

                Darcy tucked her foot under his knee to stop him. “Jack Rollins, you stop that. You are a damn good man, and I knew that I was in over my head that day in your office.”

                He looked down at her with his eyes full of wonder. "I meant that, you know. Any man would be lucky to have you."

                “I want _you_ , Jack. I want _you_ to have me.”

                Amusement flashed across Jack's face, and he reddened. 

                “Is that why you’ve been acting weird Jack?”

                "Maybe?" He flopped down beside her and sat up on one elbow. "I think I wanted you damn near the moment I laid eyes on you. I knew-” He swallowed thickly, and looked away. “I knew that I loved you when you broke up with Ian. All I could think about was how much I wanted it to be me that you went home to. I wanted it to be me that made you smile, and made you breathless. I couldn’t understand how anyone would let you go when I would have given anything to have you.”

                Darcy leaned over to kiss Jack again. “Jack?”

                “Hmmm…” He mumbled against her lips. “Yeah?”

                “I want you to have me, and I want you to have me now.” Her eyes were wide and dark with desire.

                His voice was gravelly when he spoke, “Darcy I will give you anything you ask for.”

                At that, he sat up on his knees and stripped his shirt off. Darcy's hungry gaze followed his movements, and he smirked. "Like what you're seeing?"

                “I’d like to see a lot more.” He could hear the smile in her sultry voice.

                Darcy reached up to tug Jack's shirt off of herself and pulled Jack back down in top of her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this will definitely have a part 2


	6. Darcy Lewis/ Brock Rumlow/ Jack Rollins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was only supposed to be like a paragraph  
> I don't even know how this happened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a dirty liar who lies. I'm struggling to write my Darcy/Brock part 2. But I want it to be done well, so it has to wait until I figure out my plot holes. Until then, enjoy!

                Nick Fury and Phil Coulson had been friends for years, decades even. They were an unfaseable team. In the many years that they had served SHIELD, truly they had seen everything. Aliens? Regular Thursday. Stark fucked something up? Nothing a meeting with Ms. Potts couldn’t absolve. An 084? Interesting, but easily taken care of by a team dispatch and a mission report. Like clockwork.

                And so it was cause for alarm when Fury and Coulson were catching up for the latest STRIKE mission debrief and Fury’s PA buzzed the intercom:

                “Sirs? I’m getting a report from the café on five.”

                Coulson sighed deeply. “We’ve just had it stocked and fixed the delivery issue. What’s wrong now?”

                “It seems to be Agent Rollins, sir. He is- not himself.” She sounded nervous, and distracted.

                Fury and Coulson shared a Look. Jack Rollins was recruited specifically because of how stoic he was known to be. He had been a Naval SEAL when he was discovered in a prisoner camp in Iraq, taking a beating that would have most men begging to be allowed to spill their secrets. Not Rollins. Every time he was put down, he was back up. The man had one default facial expression, and it was ‘mildly agitated’. Fury had seen the man crack a smile one time in the last handful of years, and it was right before a brawl that had demoted the man and had him in a cell for a few weeks. The recruit he smiled at never fully recovered from his resultant injuries, and now manned a desk in a corner of the building where Rollins’ presence was never required. Barring that one instance, Jack Rollins had stoicism that could be used as the foundation for a skyscraper.

                “What do you mean, ‘not his damn self’?”

                “I’m getting a multitude of reports coming in that he’s _laughing._ Hysterically. Commander Rumlow is present, and the area is cleared, but the reports are coming in by the dozen. I have nearly a hundred in my inbox.”

                Coulson and Fury left the office and moved quickly to the elevator with a speed impressive for their ages. The elevator had closed with a soft _*ding*_ when Nick Fury spoke up.

                “Has he ever been known to be anything like this?”

                “No, it is quite concerning. Maybe he was drugged? Maybe he’s snapped? We really ought to get them all into psych a little more frequently.”

                The elevator doors opened and both men rushed down the now empty hallway for the café in the main section of the floor. Rollins’ raucous laughter was still ongoing. As they came into view of the café, they could see him. Jack lay flat on his back, with one leg outstretched and one knee bent up. He had an arm out wide, and the other hand wiping tears from his eyes. His whole body shook with the force of his laughter, which was now bordering on manic. Jack’s face and neck were flushed with exertion.

                On seeing the approach of the Director and Agent Coulson, Jack quickly schooled his features and tried to sit up. Fury quickly motioned for him to stay put.

                Coulson looked up to the barista and was entirely unsurprised to see one of the perpetual banes of his existence peering at him from the other side of the counter.

                “’Sup Agent iPod Thief?”

                “Ms. Lewis, what have you done to Agent Rollins?”

                “What?”

                Phil had to give her credit. She seemed genuinely perplexed. “Did you drug him? What did you do to cause- _this_?”

                Before Darcy could reply, Rumlow heaved a sigh and said, “She didn’t do _anything_ , sir. It’s just- Jack.”

                “Just Jack? Just Jack?! Agent Rollins has never been so out of sorts! What happened here?” The vein in Phil’s forehead was popping out, a sure sign of danger.

                Jack had begun to collect himself, but was still unable to speak through his soft, yet incessant giggling.

                “It was just a joke, sir. I didn’t mean anything by it.” Darcy seemed more concerned now, and she kept shooting looks at Jack.

                “What the actual fuck happened, Lewis?” Fury had neither the time nor the patience for this bullshit.

                Wringing her hands, Darcy and then Brock started to fill in the events.

                ---------------------------------------

                Jack and Brock were just getting back from the ass- end of nowhere. Jack had sand in places that vexed him. He wanted coffee, a shower, and sleep. The way Brock kept grabbing his ass made it clear what _he_ wanted. But that was Brock for you. Post mission always had him ramped up with extra adrenaline to burn. And sure, Jack was always up for a fuck, but goddamn. Fifteen years of friendship, which included ten years together, had given Jack and Brock more than enough time to know everything that they could about each other. Which meant that Brock _knew_ his partner was likely to be too tired for anything, and he was just being an _asshole_.

                Rounding the corner to the café, Jack was pleased to see that no one was in line. People were at the small seating area, talking amongst themselves, but all of them hushed as the STRIKE agents neared.

                While Brock and Jack were something of an open secret, they kept carefully distant when others were around. There was a betting pool that had nearly reached five thousand dollars on whether or not they were a couple. They had agreed that if it hit ten they would make a scene and collect the money themselves. They were too indispensable to be reprimanded for their decade- long fraternization. They had proven time and again that it didn’t affect their field performance. Or at least not in a negative way. Some of the others on missions in close quarters were known to request decibel blocking ear plugs from supply.

                Seeing Darcy, Jack smirked a bit. She was cute, and funny as hell. She seemed to take it personally that she had never made Jack crack a smile. He reigned in his expression, knowing that he had a reputation to live down to, and stepped up to the counter. He was bone tired, and he needed something strong if he was going to live through the debrief. 

               “What’ll it be, Agent Spock?”

               Jack smirked a bit at the nickname, and Brock outright laughed. Anyone else would have broken bones for that kind of familiarity, but the two men were quite fond of Darcy.

               Scanning his eyes over the menu board, Jack said, “I’ll take a large Italian.”

               Darcy smiled beautifully, making her entire face light up, and then leaned over the counter to give Brock a very lecherous once- over.

               Darcy turned back to Jack’s now confused expression. “I mean he’s really more of a medium.”

               Brock spluttered indignantly, but he was overtaken entirely by Jack, who split into a wide smile and let out a deep belly laugh that put him on his knees. Too many days of not enough sleep, and being overworked had him sounding completely unhinged. He quickly ended up on his back, his body shaking with laughter. Everyone around had cleared out, each one on their phones, no doubt spreading the word about Agent Rollins.

               Darcy smiled to herself. _Mission accomplished._

               ---------------------

               Fury stalked away. He had better things to do than deal with this mess.

               Coulson recovered himself, and once Rollins could actually speak to his own well-being, Phil left with a calm, “Be on time for the debrief.”

               Once the two senior STRIKE agents were alone with Darcy, Brock leaned against the counter, which did very nice things to his already wonderful biceps.

               “Tell ya’ what, girlie. For a chick ya’ got balls.” Brock looked both pleased and affectionate.

               Jack was standing now. He stepped over to Brock, and slid an arm around the shorter man’s waist, causing Darcy to raise an eyebrow. Smiling, Jack leaned down and whispered something into Brock’s ear that made him blush down to his collar.

               Darcy was intrigued. Everyone knew these two were together, but _no one_ saw them intimate, or even physically close like this. And Darcy would know, she ran the betting pools around the place. The entire base knew if you had money to lay down, you went to girl who made the coffee.

               Looking to Darcy, Jack spoke quietly, but confidently.

               “What do you say, Lewis? Why don’t you come back to ours tonight, and you can see how everything _sizes up_?”

               Looking back and forth between the two men, she smiled slowly.

               “Well hot damn. I haven’t had a threesome since college, and it was terrible.” She hummed thoughtfully. “Of course, I’ll bet you two boys could leave that experience in the dust.”

               Brock turned a smoldering look to her. “Girlie’ I promise we’ll have you screaming for more.”

               “Done deal.” Darcy couldn’t keep the joy off her face as she handed over two large coffees. “I’ll be waiting for you,” she called as both Jack and Brock disappeared in the direction of the debrief conference room.

 


	7. Jack Rollins/ Brock Rumlow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from a friend: 5 times that tickling ___ led to an act of violence, and one time that it didn't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got away from me a little

**5**

                The STRIKE second- in- command was killed in a firefight outside of Burma. That’s all the official mission report said. The real story is a secret between Nick Fury and Brock Rumlow. Neither man is very forgiving of betrayal. While Rumlow was content to promote internally, the director had made the choice for him. Fury had called Brock into his office to pass him a recruit. Some fresh-faced kid, a fucking huge kid, but a kid. Rumlow was told in no uncertain terms that Jack Rollins was brought in from the Navy SEALs and he would be serving as Rumlow’s SIC. Brock Rumlow is an angry man.

                _How dare Fury give me some punk kid, younger than half my guys, and expect him to be able to command respect? To lead? How can I expect someone I have never met to be trustworthy of my life? Of my team?_

                Rollins had been stoic in the face of it all. Such severity seemed out of place on a man so young, but Brock had brushed the thoughts aside.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

                Leading Rollins to a sub- basement, Brock by- passed the usual STRIKE training gym. As they passed it, Jack noticed it had several men practicing throws and falls. The gym that Rumlow stopped at was completely empty, save for a boxing ring I the middle of the floor.

                “Glove up, kid.” Brock threw a pair of handwraps and boxing gloves at Jack.

                Offering Brock a confused glance, Jack clumsily started to wrap his hands.

                “Jesus, kid.” Brock finished wrapped the hand he was working on, and began to unwind the mess that Jack was making. “Watch.”

                Jack watched carefully as Brock demonstrated.

                “There’s twenty- seven bones from here down.” Brock held one on Jack’s large hands, and pointed to his wrist. “Now don’t fuck this up. If you do it wrong, you’re gonna break some ‘em.”

                Jack smiled at the little bit of old Bronx that Rumlow let creep into his voice in his distraction.

                Once both men were gloved, Brock stepped up into the ring, motioning for Jack to follow.

                “Alright kid. Show me what you got. Make me believe that you deserve to be here.”

                Jack is much bigger, and broader. He’s heavier, and an easy ten years younger than Brock, but he fights with everything he has. He holds nothing back, and yet he does so without being showy. Brock finds himself begrudgingly impressed.

                Nearly forty minutes later, when they’re both heaving deep breaths and pouring with sweat, Jack has managed to pin down Brock. Shucking off his gloves, he holds Brock by the ribs.

                “So, _boss._ Think I got what it takes?” Jack is looking at him more than a little lecherously, which Brock is trying to ignore. He shifts under Jack’s weight.

                A sharp intake of breath has Jack looking down into Brock’s eyes. He notices the subtle, but telltale flinch. A glint of mischievousness flashes over Jack’s face, and he smiles.

                Brock’s eyes wide comedically. “No- No! Don’t you fuckin’ dare!” Jack digs his fingers in and tickles the older man. Brock shrieks and laughs until tears are rolling down his face.

                Jack pauses in his assault, laughing at Brock. He is entirely unprepared for Brock’s quick left hook and murderous gaze. Knocking Jack off of him, Brock keeps swinging until his shoulders ache.

               Jack is in medical for three weeks. The scar on his chin never fades.

\---------------------------------------

**4**

-Five Years Later-

               It’s a mission. It fucking would be on a mission. Everything had been a shitshow. Bad intel, shoddy mission support, and two agents out in the field when they could have used another few weeks of recovery time. Of _course_ everything had gone to Hell.

                While the job was finished, it was sloppy. Too sloppy. Brock’s years in Marine Special Ops were screaming in the back of his mind about how messy and inefficient and _high profile_ the mission had become. There was going to be a lot of fallout and a lot of cleanup for years to come until this black mark on his otherwise flawless career would fade away.

                Brock Rumlow fucking hated Bucharest.

                The majority of the STRIKE agents had already embarked on their quinjet home. Brock was taking it personally that he had managed to allow all of his men to be injured, save himself and his SIC.

                Jack kept trying to reassure him that none of it could possibly be blamed on him. And while it truly wasn’t his fault, and no one, in fact, could have done better with what they had been given, Brock Rumlow still blamed himself.

                The final touches of the mission, eliminating all evidence of SHIELD’s involvement, fell to Jack and Brock. Three days after the rest of the team had gone home, the pair were holed up in a safehouse in the shittiest part of the city. Their own extraction wasn’t due until the next afternoon. They had nothing to do but wait, and try to sleep.

                It was rare that the full team was needed. Brock and Jack worked alone quite often, and unless Jack’s skills were needed elsewhere, Brock preferred it that way.

                His initial misgivings about the younger man had long- since eased, and the two had settled into something of a routine. This time Brock chose to cook while Jack showered. Not having any fucking hot water was a small price to pay for not having to eat any of Jack’s weird ‘traditional’ Polish food. It was going to be a long trip back in a small jet, and he was not being cooped up with Jack after cabbage and pork rolls. He’d even once seen the man put fruit on pasta. It wasn’t normal.

                Brock was finishing up when he heard the shower shut off. Putting the food in the oven of the too- small safehouse kitchen, Brock went to retrieve his towel. He could still feel the dirt and a little bit of dried blood across his shoulders. As he stepped into the shower, he noticed that while there was still some hot water, it was going fast.

                After what ended up as a very cold shower indeed, Brock re- entered the kitchen to find Jack dishing up the cacciatore. The men ate in near- silence with only the occasional comment here and there. Truly it was one of the things Brock appreciated most about Jack. He never made the silence awkward, but he also never filled up the space with a bunch of meaningless talking.

                Jack finished first and stood up to place his dishes in the sink to wash. He began filling up the basin with soapy water. Brock leaned back in his chair, trying to stretch his back. He stood up, and set his dishes in the sink. He raised his arms up, again trying to relieve some of the tension from his aching muscles.

                He is in mid- stretch, with his eyes closed, when Jack seizes his chance. Jack knocks his CO to the floor and tickles him until he can’t breathe.

                Jack is in medical for a week. His injuries are reported as mission- related, and Brock ends up having to do the dishes, too.

\-------------------------------------

**3**

-Three Years Later-

                Brock can’t figure out what Jack’s deal is, and he’s been getting a little leery of being alone with the man. He trusts the man with his life. He is confident that Jack will never jeopardize a mission. He just can’t figure out the guy’s endgame. Every now and then, Jack gives him what he can only describe as bedroom eyes, and then makes a move to start tickling him. Most of the time he dodges Jack. Sometimes he doesn’t.

                Once more the entirety of STRIKE team Alpha is deployed. This time they’re in South Africa- somewhere in the bush. There are twelve men and two women in this tiny, crowded safehouse, and Rollins is starting to get an antsy look about him. Brock decides to call it a night.

                Everyone is asleep except for Jack, who agreed to take the first watch. Jack creeps into the end bedroom. The real benefit of command, as far as Brock is concerned, is that he usually gets separate sleeping quarters whenever they are available. Provided, of course, that they aren’t traveling with a full fucking complement. While Brock hadn’t been able to bring himself to take a room entirely for himself, he did insist on having his own bed. Every other bed in the safehouse plus the couch had at least two people on it, and there were still guys in sleeping bags on the floor.

                Brock is awake and on high alert when he hears the soft click of the door closing. His hand already reaching for the gun he strapped to the bed post when he Jack speaks up.

                “Easy boss. It’s just me.” The soft whisper seemed so loud in the stillness.

                Before Brock can form a reply, Jack’s hand covers his mouth. He leans down to whisper into Brock’s ear. “Best be quiet now, boss. It’d be a shame to wake up the team with those cute little giggles of yours.”

                Jack took his hand off of Brock’s face and dug his fingers into Brock’s bare torso. He tickled as hard and as fast as he can.

                Brock, to his credit, makes no noise until he gets an arm around Jack and puts a fist into Jack’s face. He shoves Jack off the bed, and rolls over, seething inside.

                It is later- after the team is home and debriefed, that Brock seeks out Jack. Finding him in the locker room, Brock waits until Jack is dressed before punching him again.

                Jack does not go to medical. He sits at home with an ice pack on his face and laughs to himself about Brock Rumlow.

\---------------------------------------------

**2**

-Two Years Later-

                Brock Rumlow does not cry. He does _not_ get teary- eyed weepy like a damn girl. He’s a grown- ass man, goddamn it. So when Jack Rollins finds him, silently crying and drinking, slumped against the wall of his office, he quickly locks the door behind himself. Jack sits on the floor beside Brock, who has a cheap bottle of tequila in hand- half gone, he notes.

                Jack waits. He is an incredibly patient man. He’s waited for days in a row to take a single shot, sometimes laying in a puddle of his own piss. He’s waited through hours of torture and interrogations. He’s waited for news to come from medical about one of their own. He can wait.

                Jack waits for Brock to speak, knowing that he can’t _not_ speak. It’s simply not in his nature to be quiet for very long. When the words finally come, they are gravelly and course- choked out and stuttered from alcohol and fatigue and despair. And Jack listens. He listens to how the newest junior STRIKE agent may never fully recover; he may never even come out of a coma.

                Brock blames himself. He goes on about how he should have done so many things differently, how he shouldn’t have pushed so hard on so new of a kid.

                Knowing that his words will fall on deaf ears, Jack stands up. He grabs a bottle from the cabinet in the corner of Brock’s office and takes a heavy swig. He pulls Brock to his feet and guides him to the couch in the corner of the office that generally gets used as a bed, by the look of it.

                Brock slumps down on the couch and leans over to stretch his legs out. Jack sits on the edge and tickles him. Brock laughs and laughs until the tears stop entirely and he is gasping for breath. Jack lays down beside him. Brock doesn’t hit Jack. He lets himself fall asleep against Jack’s chest.

                Brock wakes up alone in the morning, covered in Jack’s hoodie. He doesn’t look Jack in the eye for weeks.

\------------------------------

**1**

-Six Months Later-

                The junior recruit makes a full recovery. He has turned out to be an incredible asset to the team. Everything had been looking up, and Brock Rumlow is in a damn fine mood.

                He and Jack are sparring in the gym, burning off some steam from too many easy in and out missions. He really should have seen it coming.

                In one dirty move, Jack swipes his leg behind Brock’s, knocking him flat on his ass. Jack quickly swings a leg over Brock, straddling his hips.

                Brock sees the mischievous look back on Jack’s face a heartbeat too late. Before he can move or speak, Jack’s gloves are off, and he is tickling Brock’ sides. Both men are already breathless from the workout.

                Brock can’t even laugh; he is so out of breath. He can’t speak, not even to tell Jack to _fucking stop_. He shifts his hips, trying to throw Jack off of him.

                Jack freezes deadly still when he feels a very prominent erection against the underside of his balls. Brock latches onto Jack’s moment of shock and hits him in the jaw.

                Jack is in medical for a day when he receives his transfer orders.

\-----------------------------------------

**+1**

-Six More Months-

                It is six months of Rumlow and Rollins on entirely separate details- entirely separate teams. Everyone is suffering. Mission success rates are down. Efficiency rates are down. Morale is down. Every single STRIKE agent on the base is surly and agitated.

                It’s Coulson, who saves them in the end.  He ordered a default on the change of rank and reversed a stack of transfer orders. Rollins is paired back up with Rumlow, and Coulson dissolves the fledgling STRIKE team Echo.

                Things slowly improve. It doesn’t go unnoticed that Brock and Jack never speak. Several otherwise flawless missions are compromised when Brock refuses to acknowledge Jack; refuses to give him orders directly.

                It is after one such mission that Jack seeks out his superior officer. Finding him in his office filling out the mission report, Jack sits down.

                “Rumlow.”

                “Hm.” Brock doesn’t look up.

                “We need to talk.”

                “ _We_ ain’t gotta do _shit_ , Jackie.”

                Jack doesn’t respond. He doesn’t react to the nickname that he’d come to miss hearing. Instead, Jack stands, and in one fluid motion, swipes everything off of Brock’s desk and onto the floor.

                Reaching over grabbing Brock by the holster he was still wearing, Jack hauled him bodily over the desk and slammed him against the opposite wall.

                Jack tickled him. Brock’s hands come up, but Jack is ready. He grabs both hands in his own and pins them above Brock’s head. In terms of pure, physical strength, Jack can easily overpower Brock, and Brock is looking nervous. When Jack steps in, bringing a thigh between the man’s legs, Brock looks worried.

                Brock starts to make a smart comment, but Jack is there, kissing him. Brock melts into the kiss- giving as good as he gets. He moans unabashedly and then freezes up. He yanks his arms down and shoves Jack away.

                “You aren’t any less of a man for wanting this, Brock.”

                “That’s, it’s not-” Brock falters and looks down.

                Jack puts a hand gently on Brock’s chin and tilts his face back up. Looking up into Jack’s eyes, Brock leans into him to kiss him.

                Brock slowly back Jack up until they reach the couch, where he breaks the kiss to push Jack until he sat down. Pushing him again, until he swings his legs up and lays down, Brock moves in to kiss him again.

                Jack, completely distracted, is only vaguely aware of the movement behind his head until he feels cold metal clasp over his wrists.

                Absolutely aghast, he looks up in confusion at the handcuffs, and then back to Brock.

                Brock gives him a wolfish grin- and tickles him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS I'm dividing these up into their own fics, but I'm also going to keep adding them here


End file.
